P is for Pain…

…and so many other wonderful words! Pee, penis, pleasure, pussy, pant, paddle…

The word “paddle” reminds me of a funny story, before I get started on my real “P” word.

My workplace gives us an Earth Day gift each year, something reusable or recycled, or in the spirit of the day in some way. They are always lovely gifts, and I look forward each year to what they will come up with.

This year, they gave us paddles.

So maybe they didn’t call them paddles. “Handmade, found-wood, all natural ‘utensils,'” they said.

But we all know what they are, don’t we??

It was a really weird moment when my boss and I went into the office to pick out the one we wanted. I had to resist the urge to smack each one against my leg. And opened my mouth to comment on the relative weight of one to the others – then snapped it shut. And then…

My boss started smacking one against his palm! OMG I about died. I am absolutely sure neither he nor my other coworker have even a notion of what I was thinking – seriously, they both looked completely guileless as they checked the spats and spoons out – but I was dying.

And when my coworker said, “I’ve been looking for something just like this!” all I could do was nod, and wonder how my new paddle – er, utensil – was going to feel against my tender flesh. I’d been looking for something just like this as well!

Which brings us to the actual word for the post:

Pain.

But, for me, pain – at least in the erotic sense – doesn’t come without pleasure. Or at least some kinds of pain.

It’s hard to parse out the pain from the pleasure. They get so mixed up, so intertwined that I don’t think – in the moment – that I can parse them out.

This day was my release from the no orgasm – “but you get to edge a fucking lot and be miserable” – punishment. I had actually thought tomorrow was my release day, so when V asked me what I was going to do after work, I replied, “Edge again, Sir. Very well this time, though.” (I hadn’t exactly been getting to the edge all week.) Paint me flabbergasted when he corrected me: “Your punishment ends at 5pm, kitty.”

OMG OMG OMG I get to have an ORGASM!!!!

Of course he puts a stipulation on it. (In all fairness, he asked ME to conceive of a plan that would entertain him on my own, but…hell, I’m not a top. I have no imagination. “Think of something,” he said, “or I will.” I didn’t, and (of course, being a toppy meanie) he did.

“In the bathroom, on the floor, clover clamps on, at least five minutes of Baldy, making sure you smack or pull the clamps every few minutes before you come.” Seriously? I need to make a file of “hot scenarios for my Owner” that I can just copy and paste for him when needed.

So okay. There I was. On the bathroom floor. And it was HOT. And painful! How does that work?

We have Marco Polo accounts, so I thought I would live stream/video it for him, but the five-minute build-up, the tugging and pulling and just plain “ouch-but-it-feels-so-good” got to me, and having to stop and start to make the video work (technical difficulties, doncha know) resulted in me coming before I was ready to show it off to him. Arghh!

So I had a better idea: I’d video while I was removing the damn clover clamps. Because to be truthful? I was pretty sure he’d get off on THAT more than me translating the pain to pleasure and having an orgasm. He’s a sadist, remember?

I think I was right.

 

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